


Glory, Glory

by a_mind_at_work (Madame_Marauder)



Series: drips and drabbles [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Gen, Honor, Lots of Angst, M/M, Other, Rev Set at war, This isnt a happy fic, glory - Freeform, sad boys in love, sadness and death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-01 08:45:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10918359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madame_Marauder/pseuds/a_mind_at_work
Summary: Glory. What a curious word.Men fight and live and die for the honor of bearing this title. For the chance that one day, soon or in the far future, it will be said that their actions were worthy of being described as such.So I ask of you: What is glory?





	Glory, Glory

     "Go! Go, now!"

     "Shit, run!"

     "Fire! Fire, men!"

     Glory. Was this glory? Dying on a blood-soaked plain, surrounded by the bodies of your brothers? Using your fear and desperation to steady your shaking hands, and fire your weapon at the enemy, the enemy whose red coats were made redder with the blood of your fellows?

    No, this was not glorious. This was hell.

 

* * *

 

 

    "We have to cut their supply lines!"

    "Son, we haven't the strength to make it to their supply lines!"

    "I'm not your son."

    "Focus! The matter at hand, men. Hamilton, the general is right. We're too weak to even make it to their routes, much less fight."

     Glory. Honor. What happened to them, to these principles that had sent many a young man running to enlist? There was no glory here. There was no glory pulling lots to see whose steed would become that night's stew, no glory in huddling around a sputtering campfire. Certainly, there was no honor in what happened in the after hours, either.

 

* * *

 

     He traced his finger along his lover's cheekbone, ignoring the pang that came with feeling the hollow cheeks. "You know that whatever happens, we will stay," he murmured softly.

    His lover turned over, a curtain of honey colored curls spilling across the pillow. "Don't promise me that, Alexander."

     Alexander only shook his head, pulling himself closer. "John, it's the only thing I can promise. We will stay, in spirit if not in flesh."

     "Dammit, Hamilton! Don't you dare give me false hope!"

     "Ah, but my dearest Laurens, it is not false."

    John ventured a hand out from under the covers to brush hair from his eyes, quickly pulling it back from the frigid air. "What of our supposed honor? There would be no glory in a death by the gallows."

      "You're forgetting something," Alexander retorted. "The whole point is that we will die for our freedom and happiness. Glory be damned."

      The other snorted. "Glory be damned? Ha, Alexander, the chance for glory is all we have!"

 

* * *

 

     "They dance around, refusing to act. They refuse to send us supplies, citing nonsensical reasons. And yet they will have the glory, while we die by the enemy's hand. So why? Why starve here, shivering in the night, when you could eat dinner and sleep beside your wife? Go home, men, as I will; there is no glory for you here," spat the man, straightening his coat. He turned on his heel and marched away from the fire, headed south.

      The group of men left behind muttered amongst themselves, contemplating the deserter's words. For it was true; their names, for most, would not be printed in the history books, the newspapers would neither sing their praises nor chant their condemnations.

      "Men," said a weary voice from behind, "I understand your pains. I-"

      Someone cut him off with a derisive snort. "All due respect, but what could you possibly know about this?"

     His violet eyes hardened. "Do you honestly think that this is the first New England winter I've spent with inadequate food, shelter, and clothing? Because I'm afraid you'd be wrong. If I joined the Lobsterbacks, I'd have all that has been denied of me. And yet I am here, because not only are the British utter oppressive bastards, but history is harsh when you are on the wrong side of righteousness. But men, we are on the right side. Perhaps our names will not be carved into monuments, but there is glory in doing what is right. There is no glory, no honor in abandoning your country in its time of need. Do your duty, and you will be forgotten as a hero- forsake it, and you shall be remembered forevermore as a villain."

 

 


End file.
